Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

Tears are the silent language of grief

A grief without a pang, void, dark and drear,
A drowsy, stifled, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet or relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear.

The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

Spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart.

Grief,” she writes, is “a whisper in the world and a clamor within. More than sex, more than faith, even more than its usher death, grief is unspoken, publicly ignored except for those moments at the funeral that are over too quickly.” - Sandberg sharing Anna Quindlen's take on how society conceals grief

The saddest noise in the world is that of a heart breaking.

The sorrow which has no vent in tears may make other organs weep.

The heart that sins must sorrow.

To me so deep a silence portends some dread event; a clamorous sorrow wastes itself in sound.

Against a broken heart, even absurdity falters.
Because words fall away.
A dialogue of silence.
That deafens.

I tell you hopeless grief is passionless,
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness
In souls, as countries, lieth silent-bare
Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy dead in silence like to death — Most like a monumental statue set
In everlasting watch and moveless woe
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet;
If it could weep, it could arise and go.

In all the silent manliness of grief.